The Singer
by FlammaWriter
Summary: Peter wasn't in love. He didn't do love. He did try and ruin his remaining family's lives whenever he could, but he had been trapped in his home as it burned. Left to listen to the screams of his dying wife and child, and feeling the flames raise higher around him, drowning him in smoke and bathing him in fire, so he thought he deserved to be somewhat bitter.(One-shot)Reviews pls.


**Peter wasn't in love.** He _didn't_ do love. He did try and ruin his remaining family's lives whenever he could, but he had been trapped in his home as it burned listening to the screams of his dying wife and child, and feeling the flames raise higher around him, drowning him in smoke and bathing him in fire, so he thought he deserved to be somewhat bitter. Since it was Derek's fault in the first place. He knew the kid was, well just a kid when it happened, but hell, his daughter had just been a kid too. But back to the point, Peter was not in love. Not in a million years, he just really enjoyed the alcohol at this bar. Not the singer. Definitely not her, it had everything to do with the liquor that didn't affect him. Peter thought his reasoning was sound, and took another sip of his vodka. His eyes trained on the woman on stage.

She commanded the stage with such charisma Peter had never seen in a woman before, or in anyone for that matter, werewolf and human alike. It was one of the (many) things he didn't love about her.

She had pale blonde hair that framed her face in a way that shouldn't be humane; it was far too angelic for a human to possess. Another thing on his list of 'not-love'.

Her eyes, god, Peter could feel his grasp on the glass tightened and he threw the alcohol into his mouth, wishing more than ever he could feel it burn down his throat. She had these large blue eyes that were framed by thick black eyelashes. With Peter's heightened sight he could see the swirling specks of gold hidden in her eyes, and it was just not fair. They screamed 'help-me' and 'love-me' at the same time, like she was trapped somewhere between being afraid of being alone but too scared to love.

She had freckles, for fuck sake, not like the ugly ones that dotted that Stile kids face. Freckles were meant to be marks on the skin that people felt insecure about and tried to cover up, not look like every single bloody freckle had been perfectly placed on her smooth, pale cheeks to enhance her other-worldly beauty. He motioned for the bar tender to top him off; in reply, the barman raised his eyebrows sceptically. To be fair, Peter had drunk the majority of the alcohol on the shelf and most likely a good percentage of the alcohol in the building, so he should be keeling over due to permanent liver damage, not wanting more.

Peter himself wasn't much of a romantic, but, god, her lips even had him (not) pinning. They were always coated in a bright red colour that just enhanced how kissable they were.

He didn't even trust himself to describe her body. But he'd just like to point out those tight floor length dresses, that cling to every curve like they'd been painted on her, were not fair. She shouldn't be allowed to wear backless dresses either, that reveal too much of her lean pale back and her slim shoulders. Because hell, if she kept that up, Peter couldn't guarantee that his wolf was going to stay dormant for much longer.

Peter had met many beautiful women in his life, even slept with his fair share of gorgeous beings before he'd met his wife. So it wasn't just the way she shinned under the bar lights that had him crawling his way to this mangy bar at 11pm, it was her voice.

He'd like to think he'd retain his macho manly alpha-ness when he stated the following description, that she had the voice of an angel. But hell, he was sounding more like that love-struck puppy, Scott. And to which, Peter would like to re-instate just how much he's not in love with this Goddess of a woman.

He's just admiring her beauty.

And the way it makes him feel giddy.

Like the song she'd just began to sing.

"If you could only see,

The beast you've made of me.

I held it in but now

It seems you've set it running free."

Peter could feel the glass shatter in his hand, but felt nothing. Not even the worried glances of the barman on his back, because, the woman was singing a fucking song about werewolves.

And hell, he was a werewolf.

He watched her, the way her eyes closed when her husky voice began to sweep through the bar. It was a Friday night, so the bar was filled with drunken idiots that weren't paying attention to the god-like woman on stage. But Peter was, he had his full attention on the woman, he could pretend to not be in love with her after she stopped singing about love and werewolves.

She opened her eyes on the next verse, and Peter could've sworn time stopped. She looked right at him, captivating him with those ocean blue orbs. He could literally feel the words she was singing, sink into his skin to become a permanent memory.

"Screaming in the dark,

I howl when we're apart.

Drag my teeth across

Your chest to taste your beating heart."

He knew a few words from a song shouldn't be getting to him like this, but flashes of fantasies clouded his vision. He wanted to make those lyrics true, and well, he'd like to say his eyes weren't slowly seeping into a crystal blue as his wolf took over his mind.

"My fingers claw your skin,

Try to tear my way in.

You are the moon

That breaks the night for which I have to howl."

Peter may or may not have had to dig a piece of glass into his leg just to re-gain control. Because, damn, in this moment she was more addictive than the full moon, and wolfing out in the middle of a crowded bar would probably make his shitty life shittier. The angelic woman had a smile on her face, like she knew what she was doing to him.

"My fingers claw your skin,

Try to tear my way in.

You are the moon

That breaks the night for which I have to..."

Her eyes closed again, but there was a sort of vulnerability to her words that made them all that more attractive.

"Howl, howl...

Howl, howl..."

Peter felt his eyes close too and her voice surge through his veins.

"Now there's no holding back,

I'm aching to attack.

My blood is singing with your voice,

I want to pour it out..."

Peter decided then and there, that these lyrics were designed to torture him.

"The saints can't help me now,

The ropes have been unbound.

I hunt for you with bloodied feet

Across the hallowed ground."

Peter's attention was now divided between her, and not attacking the woman and biting her so she'd always be his.

"Like some child possessed,

The beast howls in my veins."

The beast was definitely howling desperately in his veins, trying to claw its way out from inside him. He could feel it whining, and scratching at his weak control.

"I want to find you,

Tear out, all your tenderness."

Peter could think of a few other things he wanted to do to this angelic being.

"And OH, Howl

Howl, howl..."

The way she sung the words was completely mesmerising, and frankly Peter had never felt so alive in his pitiful life.

"Be careful of the curse,

That falls on young lovers.

Its starts off sweet,

And turns them to hunters."

This woman was singing to him. There was no other explanation to how perfect the words were ringing in his ears.

"The fabric of your flesh,

Pure as a wedding dress.

Until I wrap myself inside,

Your arms I cannot rest..

The saints can't help me now,

The ropes have been unbound.

I hunt for you with bloodied feet

Across the hallowed ground.

And howl..."

Peter had given up on denying his attraction to this woman, because he swore, if anyone else was sitting in his place right now, they'd be in love with the woman too.

"Be careful of the curse,

That falls on young lovers.

It's starts of sweet,

And turns them to hunters.

A man who's pure of heart

And says his prayers by night.

May still become a wolf,

When the autumn moon is bright."

This was not fair. She was not fair. The universe and every single fucking thing in it were not fair.

"If you could only see,

The beast you made of me.

I held it but now it seems,

You've set it free.

The saints can't help me now,

The ropes have been unbound.

I hunt for you with bloody feet,

Across the hallowed ground."

And with the final note remaining suspended in the ear, she opened her eyes to the audience and smiled. It was a smile of pure bliss, and Peter knew how much of a rush she got off singing, because no one's eyes were allowed to sparkle in such a way. He felt something pool in his stomach, gnawing away at the thick bitter blackness that had been a permanent part of him since the fire. He could almost feel his heart beat inside his chest, like it had purpose once again.

If anyone told Derek, or the rest of the stupid teens that hung out with his nephew, he'd deny the words faster than they could blink.

But in this moment, with her voice surging freshly though his veins and her smile burnt in his mind, Peter swore he felt, almost human.

He was so fucked.

And as long as it was by her, he didn't mind.

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End file.
